by Mark McKay
Heinrich took a long swig of his whisky. ‘You think they’ll buy that?’
Nick shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter. Just stick to your story. The four men may never be identified, they might work out that they were Russians, perhaps. Hell, we don’t even know if they were Russians. All we know is who sent them. Keep that to yourself.’
‘Fine. I’ll brief my staff. They will say they heard everything but saw nothing.’
‘Max has a daughter, in England. Will you see that she’s notified? And Alix’s father, of course.’
Heinrich nodded. ‘Sure.’
‘I’m taking the keys to Alix’s apartment. We’ve all got luggage stored there. I’ll collect it later.’
‘Where will you go?’
‘Don’t know, yet. But we have to get Marielle ready to travel. I want to be out of here when the sun comes up.’
They looked across at the two women. The drink seemed to have calmed Marielle down. She sat quietly, hands still entwined in Magda’s.
‘I’ll ask Magda to help Marielle pack,’ said Heinrich. He walked over to his wife and spoke to her for a few minutes. Magda said nothing in reply and when he’d finished she helped Marielle to her feet. They left the room.
‘I’m sorry about all this,’ said Nick.
‘Me, too. Now you know why I hate Russians like Dubrovsky. They are pigs.’
‘When Dubrovsky is dead, I’ll come back and see you. You won’t have to wait long.’
‘That’s quite a promise, Nick. I only hope you can keep it.’
It was getting light now and Nick wanted to be on his way. Their cases were stowed in the car and all they needed to do was get in and drive off. Marielle sat opposite him, blank-faced, with her arms folded. She had refused breakfast, but Heinrich must have said something to the cook because she had provided an assortment of sandwiches and a flask of coffee for the journey. Heinrich and his groundsman had gone outside to bury the dogs and Magda was around, somewhere. Nick finished his meal and stood up.
‘You ready to go?’ he said.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Berlin. Back to a hotel for a night or two. So we can work out what to do next.’
‘I’d like to go home.’
‘I’d like you to go home, too. But you can’t. Soon they’ll find out we’re still alive and they’ll come looking for us. Your house will be the first place they visit.’
‘Yes, I know. Alright, I’m ready.’
They made their way to the entrance hall. The front door, or what remained of it, was leaning against the wall. The groundsman had realised that trying to re-hang it was a futile exercise and had given up. Magda stood just outside at the top of the stairs. She turned at the sound of their arrival and forced a smile onto her tired face. She took Marielle into her arms and hugged her. Neither of them said anything and when Magda did finally speak it was addressed to Nick.
‘I want you to fix this,’ she said. ‘Whatever it takes. I don’t want any more men coming here trying to kill us. Do you understand?’
He nodded. ‘I’ll fix it. You can rely on that.’
Heinrich joined them. ‘Keep me informed, Nick. Until this matter is resolved one way or the other, I’ll be taking precautions.’
They walked to the car. Magda surprised Nick with a quick embrace and Heinrich shook hands, solemnly. Then they were driving away, past the mutilated man still leaning against the tree and down the wide gravelled driveway. The tall iron gates ahead swung silently open as they approached and then shut with a soft, decisive click of farewell behind them.
Chapter 12
As they drove towards Berlin, it was clear Marielle was in no mood to talk. Nick was also feeling emotionally drained after the events of the night, but he knew it was important to try and compartmentalise what had happened so he could clear enough mental space to think objectively. They were being hunted now, and that meant either keep on running or take a stand. Going on the offensive wasn’t a choice any more, it was their only realistic survival strategy. The question was; how would he execute that strategy?
They drove in silence for an hour and Nick pondered his options. He could give Dubrovsky what he wanted and he might go away. After all, even if they were to accuse him of murder, there was no evidence to back it up. But he was sure now that the Russian wouldn’t be satisfied with that. He wanted everyone with any knowledge of what had happened in Max’s apartment 20 years ago, to simply disappear. Nick could probably retreat to India and never be found, but Marielle couldn’t hide. After what had happened to Kamiko and now doubly so after Max and Alix, there was only one option he wanted to pursue. And the sooner he did so, the better.
‘I was in love with Max, once,’ said Marielle, breaking the silence. ‘Did you know?’
‘Yes. And he was still in love with you.’
‘It doesn’t matter now, does it?’ she said, her voice choked with self-loathing. ‘I killed him.’
‘You loved him, and it does matter. Just remember that. If anyone killed him, it was me. I should have agreed to the original deal.’
‘So, we both share guilt.’
He wanted to tell her that guilt was a destructive emotion that changed nothing, but right now he didn’t think it would help very much.
‘How did they know where we were?’ she asked.
‘Alix must have told them.’
‘What? How can you say such a thing?’
He told her what Alix had whispered to him just before Marielle had come in.
‘She didn’t say it outright, just that they were threatening her father. They got to her.’
‘But why kill her?’
‘I can only assume she wasn’t any further use to them. I’m sure they were told to kill us all.’
‘So, now we just wait for them to turn up again and finish the job, is that what happens?’
‘Not if I have anything to do with it. I have a promise to keep.’
They tried two hotels before they found one that could offer adjoining rooms. It was only 10am and they couldn’t check in till the afternoon, so they needed somewhere to go. Marielle suggested the Bode museum, on Berlin’s Museum Island. He doubted she was in the mood to look at cultural artefacts and neither was he, but it was something to do. After a couple of hours wandering the galleries, they found the cafe. As cafes go, it was quite spectacular. The tables were situated against the curved stone walls either side of the corridor, and light poured through ornate cupolas set at regular intervals above the patrons. There weren’t many patrons in evidence and so while Marielle went to fetch coffee, Nick tried calling Mariko in Japan.
‘I’m afraid I have more bad news for you,’ he said, when she answered.
‘Poor Alix,’ she said, after he’d filled her in on last night’s events. ‘She was lovely. Dubrovsky put her in a difficult position and she paid for it, too.’
‘Yes, and I intend to even the scales.’
‘No, Nick. Max is dead. You did all you could to help him and now it’s over. Any retaliation on your part, especially against a prominent Russian politician, is a conflict of interest as far as the Crimson Dragon Society is concerned. We have no justification for such an action. Go back to India.’
‘Other people are still in danger. I can’t just leave.’
‘I understand that,’ said Mariko, and he could hear the steel in her tone. ‘But your job is done. Please do as I ask.’
‘If you say so.’ He ended the call then, before she could continue.
Marielle came back with coffee.
‘Who was that?’ she asked as she set the cups down.
‘The people who employ me. Just checking in. Let’s drink these and get back to the hotel. I’m sure you want some rest, and I have a lot to think about.’
When they finally checked in, Marielle retired to try and get some sleep. Nick paced his room, considering what were now officially his non-existent options. He knew he wasn’t going to leave Marielle alone here, but he could ha
rdly take her back to India. If he was to get to Dubrovsky it had to be soon. His exhibition had another week or so left to run, but that didn’t mean he would still be in London. Even if he was, he’d be surrounded by heavy security. There had to be some way to get at the man.
He heard the sound of a phone ringing. It wasn’t his and for a second he was mystified, until he remembered he’d put Max’s phone in his suitcase. He quickly opened it.
‘Hello?’
‘Can I speak to Max?’ A man’s voice.
‘Not available. I’m Nick Webb, his associate.’
‘He mentioned you. I’m Richard Spencer. Max said I should call if anyone contacted me demanding money. Well, someone has.’
‘A Mr Molotov?’
‘Yes, as it happens. I run an online security business, Mr Webb. If this tape was seen by some of my clients, my business would be a laughing stock. Not to mention what my wife would think. Any suggestions?’
‘What does he want, exactly?’
‘He wants £100,000 in cash, to be delivered to a London hotel at 10pm. The day after tomorrow.’
‘Do you have that kind of money available?’
‘I can get it. In fact, I see no other option. Which is why I called Max.’
Nick thought for a moment and then decided. ‘I suggest you let me deliver the money. Or better still, a bag containing what he thinks is the money. I’ll get your tape back for you.’
Spencer was hesitant. ‘I don’t think trying to deceive this guy is a good move. If you don’t have a better idea, I’ll just pay up.’
‘Fine. Pay up by all means. Just let me be the delivery boy.’
‘Alright, rather you than me. When can you be here?’
‘I’m in Berlin at the moment. I’ll be with you tomorrow. Where can I find you?’
Spencer gave him the details. If ‘Mr Molotov’ was quietly trying to extort money, then he’d want to be discreet about it. Which meant the fewer people in the know, the better. It would make him vulnerable, and Nick intended to exploit that. He fired up the laptop and started checking flights to London.
Spencer’s office was in Central London. They met there the following afternoon.
Richard Spencer was in his late-fifties; a highly-strung, string bean of a man wearing a well cut suit. Perhaps his tension was attributable to the situation he was in, Nick thought. It was understandable; by Spencer’s own admission there was a lot riding on this. His business credibility and his marriage, for starters. He met Nick at reception and took him through to a private meeting room.
‘Max isn’t with you?’
‘No. Max is otherwise engaged. He sends his regards, of course.’
‘I’ve got the instructions regarding delivery of the money. Mr Molotov will be at the Millennium Hotel in Mayfair. At 10pm he’ll be alone at a table by the window, in the restaurant. That’s where you meet him.’
Close to the gallery, thought Nick. ‘I need to verify the tape before I hand over the money.’
‘Once you’ve met, he will take you somewhere to do that. I told him I wouldn’t be coming, by the way.’
‘Did you say who I was? Mention my name?’
‘No, I just said you’d be arriving with a briefcase. It shouldn’t be hard for you two to spot each other.’
Quite, thought Nick. Especially if it was Dubrovsky at that table, enjoying a late dinner. Should cause a little indigestion, at the very least. So here he was for the second time in just over a week, delivering money on this occasion instead of fake drugs. He just hoped it wasn’t Svetlana sitting there when he arrived. He made his arrangements with Spencer much as he had with Conway. Collect the tape and return it. Job done.
There was one thing he wanted to do now he knew the location, and that was reconnoitre. He concluded his business with Spencer and took a taxi to Mayfair. He thought if Dubrovsky was staying at the Millennium, as he assumed he must be, then it was too risky to go inside. He confined his scouting to the entrance points at the front and rear of the hotel. He’d arrive early tomorrow night and check inside. He wished he’d been able to bring a gun with him, but of course with airport security, that had been a non-starter.
The only person in England who could provide him with weapons was his Aikido teacher, Katsu Oyama. As far as Nick knew, Oyama was still living in Sevenoaks and working as a swordsmith. He was also the man who had introduced him to the Crimson Dragon Society and helped spirit him out of the UK. Oyama still had the sword Nick had used to kill the two men who’d abducted Lauren. He had their guns, too. But as Nick was ignoring Mariko’s orders, that source of assistance was barred to him. Oyama would lock him up if he knew what Nick had in mind. Still, if everything went according to plan, his martial arts skills would be all he needed. Up close, they were just as lethal as any gun or sword. He was as ready as he could be.
When he called on Spencer that evening to collect the briefcase, there was another man with him in the office.
‘This is Andrew Curtis,’ said Spencer. ‘He’s an ex-policeman. He’s coming with you, if you don’t mind.’
Curtis stepped forward and shook Nick’s hand. He was a solidly built man in his mid-fifties.
‘I’m sure you don’t mind, do you Mr Webb?’ he said. His grip was firm and he had an air of quiet authority about him.
‘Doesn’t really need two of us,’ replied Nick. ‘Are you armed, by any chance?’
Curtis shook his head. ‘No. We just thought it might be wise to have someone watching your back.’
‘And although I’m sure the thought never entered your head, I want to be sure this case full of money reaches its destination,’ said Spencer. ‘Nothing personal, but I hardly know you.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Nick. ‘Welcome aboard.’
Spencer produced the briefcase from under his desk and opened it. It was stuffed with piles of twenty and fifty pound notes, all neatly tied.
‘Each wad is £2,000,’ explained Spencer. He shut the case and handed it to Nick. ‘Come back with the tape, please.’
Nick and Curtis flagged down a black cab for the trip to the Millennium Hotel. On the way, Nick suggested a change of plan.
‘Will you take the briefcase in? Once you’ve seen the tape, you can take it straight back to Richard. That way, you’ll know I haven’t absconded with the briefcase and that the tape’s genuine.’
‘What will you be doing?’ asked Curtis.
‘Watching you. When you’re gone I can track this man. Find out who he is. Then I’ll have a shot at recovering the other tapes. There are more,’ he added, when he saw the look of surprise on Curtis’s face.
‘Alright, we’ll do it your way,’ said Curtis, after a moment’s reflection.
They arrived 20 minutes early. The restaurant was on the top floor, but before they went up Nick wanted to check the layout of the lower floors. He left Curtis sitting in the reception area while he went up to the second floor and strolled around. He checked the fire stairs and quickly ran down them to see where the exit door to the street was. Then he re-joined Curtis.
‘OK, let’s go. Once we get up there I’ll fade away. You’re looking for a man by himself, sitting by the window.’
He went with Curtis as far as the restaurant and watched as the ex-cop informed the girl on the door that he was meeting someone. Then Curtis was inside. Nick retreated to a discreet vantage point that gave him a good view of the entrance, and waited. Ten minutes later, Curtis came out. With Rubashkin.
They were coming towards the elevator, in his direction. He ducked around a corner and waited till they’d got in. Then he ran back to see which floor they would stop at. The lights on the elevator flashed on and off as the numbers counted down; from the fourth to the Ground floor. Nick swore to himself. Were they leaving the hotel? He took the stairs two at a time, arriving breathlessly in the reception area two minutes later. He was just in time to see the two men walk out the front door. He followed, keeping his distance.
They stopped af
ter five minutes, outside the gallery that was showing Dubrovsky’s exhibition. It seemed Rubashkin had a key or a swipe card; they were through the door and gone before Nick could get close enough to stop it from closing. No doubt the video would be played in the same office that he’d been in with Svetlana. But would Dubrovsky be inside? He wondered if there was another way in to the building, then decided against moving. If Dubrovsky wasn’t there, then Rubashkin would lead Nick to him. He’d just have to wait. He walked across the street and found a doorway to stand in, out of sight of anyone exiting the gallery.
After fifteen minutes or so Curtis emerged, carrying a video tape. He started walking back in the direction of the hotel. And shortly after that Dubrovsky and Rubashkin came out. Nick’s heart leaped. This was a perfect moment, there was nobody else around. The two men crossed the road in his direction. Dubrovsky had the briefcase and he looked satisfied with the results of his evening’s work. Rubashkin was poker-faced. He pointed a car key at a blue Audi and unlocked it. At that moment both men had their backs towards Nick. He moved quickly. Rubashkin was in the act of opening the car door when Nick arrived and chopped the back of his neck with the blade of his hand.
It stunned the big man, but that was all. He swung around, while reaching inside his jacket. Nick took his moving arm and twisted it to put maximum pressure on the shoulder joint. There was a crack and a howl of pain from the Russian. He staggered back, reaching for his gun with the other hand. But it wasn’t there. Nick had deftly removed it as part of the same manoeuvre. He stepped back, raising the gun to cover both men.
‘You,’ he said to Rubashkin. ‘In the car.’
Rubashkin looked venomously at him through the pain, and then spat on the ground. He opened the door completely with his good arm and did as he was told. Nick shut it behind him.
Dubrovsky wasn’t looking quite so satisfied, now. It was the first time Nick had seen him off balance. He had frozen.
‘Put the case on the roof,’ said Nick. ‘Open your jacket.’